


Smile

by terminis



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Past Character Death, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 12:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14472357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terminis/pseuds/terminis
Summary: The worst is yet to come.





	Smile

**Author's Note:**

> title & description are from smile by mikky ekko  
> [can listen to it here](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=SLYhr11Exhg)  
> i had BETAS!!!!!!  
> first one is a pretty cool person [you can find their ao3 here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qhiskey/pseuds/qhiskey)  
> second is ALSO pretty heckin cool! [here’s her tumblr!](https://nghtstlkr.tumblr.com/)

Washington didn’t miss Maine.

That’s what he told himself.

That’s what he forced himself to believe.

That’s what he recited, like a mantra, every time he woke up gasping from a dream, Maine’s name ghosting on the tip of his tongue, burning the back of his throat, like a too-strong whiskey that York would hand him before proclaiming something along the lines of, “Drink up, Wash! You’ll need it!” before pushing him off for something most definitely dangerous or somehow bad. Or both. 

Wash smiled bitterly, rolling over in his makeshift bed. He could use some of that whiskey right now. 

He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, wiped at his wet eyes, and got up from the mess of blankets on the ground. So much for sleeping in the room Tucker told him was his. Like he’d ever do that.

He threw off his plain, wet tank top and pulled on some black sweatpants, before beginning to look around for a t-shirt. Or any shirt. 

Finally, he just decided to just grab the sweatshirt that had been laying on the far end of the room in the ship he’d been sleeping in. The sweatshirt hadn’t been cleaned for weeks, months.

Still, it was a shirt, and it hid the mess of scars that disfigured almost every inch of his upper half, his skin nearly all silver or pink. It worked. For this, at least.

He made his way outside of the ship and looked up at the stars, deciding near immediately to climb up to the top of the ship, as he’d been doing for—Well, however long they’d been stranded.

If he wasn’t still trying to force his mind to forget his dream he could recall how long it’d been since they’d crash, down to the last hour, down to the last _minute_ if need be.

But—

He needed to forget.

Wash paused in his climb up on the ship and instead, looking down at how far the drop would be from where he’d scaled the ship to the ground.

He dropped.

He hit the ground with a thump and, when his feet ached from the impact, he ignored the pain. Shoved it aside for later. Another thing in the sea of emotions he’d bottled up. It could wait.

Everything could wait.

Because he didn’t care—Couldn't care. He remembered where having emotions, having empathy, having _hope,_ got him last time. Because of course he did. Every time he cared, something bad happened.

He shut his eyes, desperate to stop the thoughts that he most definitely shouldn’t be having sober, and made his way to the base.

He tiptoed silently through the hallways, went to where Tucker was hiding the alcohol—Because Wash really wasn’t as oblivious as Tucker thought—and grabbed as much as the hardest liquor he could.

He lugged the four bottles of whiskey out of the room and trekked back over to the ship, careful not to wake anyone, already opening one of the bottles and taking a hard swig.

By the time he reached the ship he was halfway done with a bottle and most definitely not as clear in the head. He made his way, dizzily, to his room, and fell on the blankets.

Now he could think.

He could think about how he didn’t miss Maine’s observant eyes, looking down at him with concern when Wash awoke screaming from a nightmare, ready to listen, to help, to make him feel better.

How he didn’t miss Maine getting pancakes even though he hated them because Wash was somehow held back before breakfast, waking late, training late, whatever, and how the pancakes tasted ten times better because Maine had thought of Wash and had actually bothered to put the “sugary circles of disgust” on his plate and had handed them over to Wash without a second thought. 

How Wash certainly didn’t miss Maine’s quiet crooning when Wash was tired and couldn’t sleep. Maine hated talking, hated making any noise at all, and yet there he would be every night, singing nursery rhymes or sea shanties or whatever. And after he lost his voice, the quiet growling or humming or whatever Wash needed.

Wash didn’t miss how Maine was the only one that could get him to sleep.

Wash didn’t miss Maine’s hulking exterior and how safe it made Wash feel.

Wash didn’t miss Maine’s face, hard to recall—

Wash was forgetting… He was forgetting Maine’s face—

The, the… Maine had green eyes… Or were they brown? Maine had a scar on his lip, he was sure of that, though the color of his lips—

Wash was forgetting it.

Wash was forgetting _him._

He shook his head, trying to clear those thoughts. He could go back to whatever he was doing—

Yeah.

Wash didn’t miss Maine’s voice, deep, dark, but still full of warmth when the situation required. The hint of a Brooklyn accent— Or—

Wash didn’t—

He couldn’t—

Wash was forgetting.

What was his name? Matt? Michael—

He didn’t _know._

That was fine, though, because Wash didn’t miss him.

Yeah.

Why would Wash miss him?

Wash took another swig. Took many more swigs.

Wash didn’t miss Maine.

Wash couldn’t miss Maine.

Because Wash didn’t deserve to.

He didn’t deserve to miss Maine’s hands, rough, calloused, holding Wash’s face, petting it softly, when Wash was in the medbay and Maine thought he was asleep.

He didn’t deserve to miss Maine’s brute strength, ready to tear apart anything in his path, protecting Wash and, when Wash was hurt, proceeding to detach the limbs of whoever hurt Wash one by one. Sort of scary—Definitely scary—But, well, genuine. And, in some sort of oddly fucked up way, reassuring.

He didn’t deserve to miss how Maine would do anything for him. Anything. From giving him an extra towel for his hair to help him in combat when he was being ganged up on.

He didn’t deserve to miss Maine’s deep rumbling—Didn't deserve to miss Maine’s quiet—Didn’t deserve to miss Maine’s—

Wash didn’t deserve to miss Maine. Full-stop. He could go on and on about things Maine did that he missed ( _Knit eyebrows staring down at Wash, a frown on his beautiful face, silently lecturing him about going off and getting himself killed through just motioning—_ )

But Wash didn’t miss Maine. 

Yeah.

He didn’t deserve to.

Because Wash could’ve saved him or could’ve at least realized that—

That—

That Maine loved him.

That everything Maine did— ( _Late night training, helping getting the adrenaline to die down, saving him strawberries, lingering touches, quiet laughs, a language just between the two—_ ) That everything Wash had written up as just being friends was born of Maine being in love with him and—

Wash could’ve realized.

Wash _should’ve_ realized. 

Because Wash loved him too and—

And he’d realized it too late.

Much too late.

Maine was already far gone and Meta was—The Meta was falling off the cliff and Wash couldn’t tell why his eyes were wet and he hadn’t cried in years and—

He took another swig of the whiskey, ready to drink himself into oblivion because that was better than this, better than anything his mind could conjure up, better than remembering the dream.

Washington didn’t deserve to miss Maine.

Because Wash could’ve saved him, could’ve figured out Sigma was bad, could’ve realized that Maine wasn’t himself, could’ve done— Something. Anything. 

But Wash didn’t. He couldn’t even realize his best friend, his roommate, his— Whatever they had been, was losing control, was getting his body taken over, was dying—

Washington missed Maine.

And he hated himself for it.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m sorry if i made u sad. in my defense i write a lot of fluff and barely any angst so,,,  
> [hmu on tumblr](https://souths-armpit-hair.tumblr.com/)  
> comments r cool. if u wanna comment please do........


End file.
